


Slapshot

by Whedonista93



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 13:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30089583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: Hockey Season Rule #1 - Do Not Get Between Sansa and a Game, especially if Tormund Giantsbane is playing.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tormund Giantsbane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, aggiepuff for the inspiration, the title, and the beta.

“Sansa,” the TA for her Advanced Statistics course hands back her most recent assignment, “perfect, as always, but does _everything_ have to be about hockey?”

“Yes,” Sansa answers unrepentantly, taking the paper and reviewing the TA’s notes.

The TA sighs. “The professor told me I can’t dock you for using the same subject every time, but I am begging, give me some variety here.”

Sansa grins. “Your options are hockey, Northern livestock and agriculture sales, or Riverland fisheries.”

The TA rolls his eyes. “I’ll take hockey.”

Sansa winks on her way out the door. “Toodles.”

* * *

Rickon throws himself across the couch, shamelessly shaking his wet curls at Sansa before dropping his head to her lap.

Sansa ruffles his hair and laughs. “You know you can dry your hair when you get out of the shower, right?”

Rickon scrunches his nose. “I’m not using a hair dryer.”

“So use a towel.” Sansa tucks a blanket between his wet hair and her jeans. “I guess I should just be grateful you’re back to showering regularly.”

“Eh.” Rickon shrugs and turns his face toward the screen. “We’re watching this game _again_?”

Sansa hums affirmatively.

_‘Coming to us in his first League game, please welcome to the ice for the Riverland Dolphins, the Terror of the Free Folk Junior League, Tormund Giantsbane!’_ The announcer’s voice sounds over the television speakers.

“It was his first pro game,” Sansa says, “his _first_ , and he broke three League-”

“Three League records in one game,” Rickon cuts her off. “Arya says you just like watching this game ‘cause he takes his shirt off.”

“Rick!”

* * *

“Robb, remote!” Sansa demands.

Robb waves at her noncommittally with the hand holding said remote.

Sansa narrows her eyes. “Robb, the game starts in two minutes.”

“I’m watching the game,” Robb retorts.

Sansa’s eyes narrow further. “Robb,” she nearly growls. “I do not give two shits about the Snakes - why the hell does Dorne even _have_ a hockey team - or the Sapphires when the Wolves and the Lions are playing in less than a minute!”

Robb settles deeper into the couch cushions with a smirk.

Sansa dives over the back of the couch, tackling Robb off the couch and snatching the remote from his hands, shamelessly using his ass as a springboard to shove herself back up onto the couch, switching the channel just as the starting buzzer sounds. 

Robb rolls over, rubbing his ass with a groan. “Really, San?”

Sansa shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “Snakes are gonna be down by three less than halfway through second period and they won’t recover. Sapphires will win by a minimum of six. If you still wanna watch it you have your own damn house. Now hush.”

Robb grumbles, but settles into the opposite corner of the couch and pulls the Snakes game up on his phone. An hour later, he groans. “How the hells do you do that?”

“Magic,” Sansa answers without looking away from the TV screen.

“So who’s gonna win your game?”

“Can’t tell.”

“Can’t figure the numbers, or too busy watching Giantsbane’s ass to figure the numbers?” Robb snarks.

Sansa throws the remote at his face.

* * *

Jon stops in the kitchen doorway to raise an eyebrow at Robb, slouched at the island with a bag of peas plastered to the left side of his face. “What happened to you?”

Robb drops the bag to the counter, revealing a rather spectacular black eye. “You know how Sansa can uncannily predict the outcome of damn near any game?”

Jon shrugs. “Sure. Unless the teams are ranked too evenly. She figures it by numbers. If the stats are too close, she doesn’t bother trying. Just enjoys the game.”

Robb’s face goes a little slack. “That’s how she does it?”

Jon gives him a ‘duh’ look. “How’d you think she does it? Actually… I don’t wanna know. The eye?”

Robb winces. “Right. Well, I was watching the Snakes and Sapphires game.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Mistake number one, that was on at the same time as the Wolves and the Lions today.”

Robb waves vaguely. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I wouldn’t give up the remote.”

Jon snorts. “Well that’s just asking to get punched.”

Robb shakes his head. “No, she just tackled me for that.”

Jon hangs his head. “What in the hells did you do, you moron?”

Robb picks the peas up and holds them back to his face. “I was a little annoyed she managed to predict my game the way she did…”

“And you made what asinine comment?”

Robb sighs. “I asked if she couldn’t predict her own game ‘cause she was too busy watching Giantsbane’s ass.”

Jon just groans, and silently rethinks offering to introduce Sansa to his best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa bounces excitedly on her toes.

“Would you chill?” Arya shakes her head. “You look like Rickon on a sugar high.”

Sansa keeps bouncing. “Shut up! Winter training camp hasn’t been in Wintertown since my first year of high school!”

“You just hope to get an up close view of Giantsbane’s ass.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “You say that like you don’t want a chance to catch Waters in the showers.”

Arya smirks. “You say that like I haven’t already.”

* * *

Sansa takes to spending group training sessions in the rink stands, video camera rolling and stat spreadsheets open on her laptop. She’s gone to games her whole life, and even been to bits and pieces of previous training camps, but this is the first time she’s had the opportunity to see so many greats up close since she really got into statistics. And not that she’ll ever admit it to any of her siblings, but the up close view of Tormund’s ass as he skates is a major bonus. She only feels a little lecherous about it.

* * *

Robb comes into the family room wearing an absolutely shit-eating grin.

Arya quirks an eyebrow. “That look never bodes well.”

Robb points at his own face. “What, this look?”

Jon nods. “That look means you think you know something.”

“I do,” Robb singsongs.

Arya rolls her eyes. “Well, share with the class.”

“Where’s Sansa?”

“Class,” Jon deadpans.

Robb’s grin spreads. “We just signed Giantsbane.”

Arya’s chair drops back down to all four legs with a thunk. “You’re _shitting_ me!”

“Language, Arya,” Catelyn chides without looking up from her knitting.

“Oh come on, Mom! You _know_ Sansa’s gonna lose it when she finds out!”

Catelyn’s eyes shine mischievously over her needles. “Think we can keep it from her until the official announcement?”

Robb’s jaw drops. “Mom! When did you turn evil?”

“Shut up, dipshit!” Arya shouts, chucking a decorative pillow at his head. “I love this. Let’s do it!”

“Language,” Catelyn sighs.

* * *

A whistle draws Sansa’s attention.

“I know you enjoy it, Sansa,” Howland Reed - a longtime family friend and the Direwolves’ manager - smiles from the doorway of the office Sansa has taken over, “but take a break, my dear.”

Sansa stretches her hands over her head, wincing when her back pops and grimacing when she looks at the clock. She’s been at it for over three hours.

Howland reaches over and lifts her skates from the chair near the doorway and waggles them at her.

Sansa laughs and stands. “Alright, alright, I can take a hint.” She digs her headphones out of her purse and kisses Howland on the cheek as she passes, taking her skates from his hand. 

The rink is almost completely empty. She idly notes Arya barking orders at some player on the far end of the ice, and greets her sister with a nod as she sits to lace up her skates. She links her headphones to her phone and sets her phone on the rink’s outerwall after looping a half tempo track to an old routine. She keeps to the top half of the rink, out of Arya and her player’s way, skating a few lazy circles to warm her muscles before gliding into the routine.

* * *

The runt of a junior trainer that the Direwolves’ coach introduced as Arya runs players like she’s got something to prove. It took Tormund two seconds into winter training to see that even the Direwolves' biggest and baddest don’t dare question the pint sized terror. It took him approximately twenty seconds to ask for a one-on-one session.

Twenty minutes into the requested session, he understands the notorious endurance of the Direwolves. The girl is nothing short of brutal, and clearly enjoys every second of it. Tormund loves it. He’s fully in the training haze, so tied up in carrying out the tasks she’s calling out, he’s only vaguely aware of another body entering the rink. It’s not until she’s got him running half court suicides, heading toward the center line, that he actually notices the other person on the ice.

The skater, tall and willowy, is built for figure skating. Her hair, in a simple braid that reaches her waist, is a deeper crimson than his own. She launches herself into the air and lands a perfect double lutz, and Tormund, not watching his own feet, promptly veers off course and runs straight into the wall. He lands hard on his back and groans.

* * *

A crash echoes across the ice as Sansa lands her lutz. She turns to see Arya’s player sprawled on the ice near the rink wall. When he doesn’t get back up she frowns, skating over to see if he’s alright. 

The helmet covers most of his head which is good. Gently, she slides her hands along the back of his neck - years on the ice ingraining the need to check for injury - before carefully sliding his helmet off. “Gods, you ran into that wall hard, are you alright?”

 _Tormund fucking Giantsbane_ blinks up at her, then slowly grins and places his hands back behind his head, as if just laying about casually on the ice is a thing. “Not quite sure. Might be dead. Pretty thing like you makes me think I might be in Paradise.”

Sansa feels the blush spreading across her cheeks. “Um…”

“You’re not dead,” Arya offers helpfully.

Tormund’s grin grows and he waggles his eyebrows. “Good. That means I can ask this lovely lady to stoop to having dinner with me.”

Sansa flees.

“Is that a no, then?” Tormund calls after her, propping himself up on his elbows.

* * *

Arya bites her lip to refrain from bursting out laughing. She’s _never_ seen Sansa turn so red so fast. And then she actually _ran away_ \- she barely took the time to put her guards on her blades!

Tormund turns toward her. “Think that means no?”

Arya manages to stop the recording on her phone before she falls to the ice laughing.

Tormund frowns. “What’d I say?”

Arya’s chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, shoving herself into a sitting position and fires the video off to the family chat. “You, my friend, just made my entire family’s _year_. I mean, we expected that anyway, but you’re about a week ahead of schedule.”

Tormund finally sits up. “What am I missing?”

Arya ignores him for a few minutes, texting rapid fire, then tosses her phone into his lap.


	3. Chapter 3

**Arya:** _ file attached _

**Arya:** _ first meeting forever immortalized in all its glory _

**Arya:** _ you’re all welcome - i accept payment in form of food, blades, and cold hard cash _

**Robb:** _ oh gods _

**Rickon:** _ did he seriously run into a wall just cause he saw Sansa skating? _

**Theon:** _ to be fair, it’s a sight to behind _

**Sansa:** _ You filmed it?! _

**Sansa:** _ Theon, you’re a lech, but thank you _

**Jon:** _If that was his reaction to meeting her, I’m glad I didn’t introduce them before._

**Sansa:** _ … _

**Sansa:** _ YOU KNOW HIM?! _

**Bran:** _ They were roommates in college. They’ve been best friends for years. _

**Jon:** _ How do you know this shit, you little traitor? _

**Sansa:** _ Jon... _

**Jon:** _ oh shit _

**Jon:** _ someone’s gotta hide me _

**Robb:** _ no way. You laughed at me when she gave me a black eye. _

**Jon:** _ forget your black eye, she’s going to KILL me _

**Arya:** _ she’d find you wherever you went _

**Jon:** _ i could go North… way North _

**Theon:** _is no one going to address the fact that Tormund fucking Giantsbane_

**Robb:** _ who she’s been crushing on for years _

**Theon:** _ asked her out  _

**Robb:** _ and she just fucking RAN AWAY?!  _

**Arya:** _ 1- yes 2 - how do you creeps do that? _

**Robb:** _ Magic _

**Bran:** _ They’re sitting next to each other on the couch at Robb’s. _

**Theon:** _ spoilsport _

**Rickon:** _ im the 1 w/ adhd - what’s the rest of ur excuses? Back to topic. San met Giantsbane _

**Sansa:** _Rick! Even you?! You’re all traitors!_

**Rickon:** _ not sorry - can u imagine how cool it’d be to have him as a bro n law?! _

**Arya:** _ the video would’ve only been half as good if you hadn’t ran _

**Arya:** _ so really, it’s your own fault _

**Rickon:** _ go back and tell him yes _

**Bran:** _ He’s still in the rink. _

**Sansa:** _ You all act like he was serious! _

**Jon:** _ trust me, he was _

**Sansa:** _ Trust you? I’m not even speaking to you! _

* * *

Tormund blinks, slowly taking in the conversation before he registers the names. “Fuck… did I just ask out the boss’ daughter?”

Arya cackles. “Yup!” She scowls and points at him. “And don’t you dare fucking tell her. We’re keeping it under wraps until the official announcement. She’s gonna lose her shit.”

Tormund cocks his head. “You’re Stark’s other girl, then?”

Arya shoves to her feet and crosses her arms over her chest. “What of it?”

Tormund rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Nothin’ really, just know a Stag goalie who’s pretty notoriously twitterpated with the youngest Stark girl.”

Arya smirks. “As he should be. Now, what are you gonna do about my sister?”

From the far edge of the rink, Tormund’s phone starts blaring  _ Pretty Boys _ by Paul McCartney and he shoves to his feet and shoots across the ice.

“Who the fuck is so important you move that fast?” Arya calls after him indignantly. “I’ve been trying to up your speed this whole session!”

“Small-peckered bastard!” Tormund greets jubilantly. “You never told me your cousin was a ginger!”

Jon groans. “And I never told her I knew you and now I’m going to pay with my life. Help me, please.”

Tormund settles down on the bench. “She didn’t strike me as the murderous type.”

“Fine, but she’ll definitely go for the face. And your sister likes my face.”

Tormund chuckles. “That she does, pretty boy. How can I help?”

“Come for dinner tonight?”

“She’ll be there?”

“Aye.”

“Then aye.”

* * *

Sansa hides away in her office for the rest of the day, then warily drags herself home. With the announcement that winter training would take place in Winterfell, Catelyn Stark immediately put her foot down and demanded everyone be home for dinner every night that week. To be fair, it was really the only way to make sure her hockey-crazy family ate at least one decent meal a day.

Sansa checks in with Catelyn in the kitchen to make sure she doesn’t need any help before settling in at the table with her tablet and notebook. Her family filters into the dining room, deftly moving around her to set the table and settle into their own seats.

“Five minutes, Sansa,” Catelyn chides gently.

Sansa grunts in acknowledgement around a half chewed pen cap.

“Problem, Lemondrop?” Ned’s voice sounds warmly.

Sansa tosses her notebook on top of his empty plate. “Yes. Torrhen taking early retirement is going to kill us. Obviously the Lions are our biggest competition. The Mountain alone will have our entire offense benched with injuries before the first period is over. The Dragons are raw, especially the players they picked up from Essos last year, but they’ve had a full season to train and Drogo is an  _ intense _ player. The Boars, Stags, and Sapphires are all well-rounded teams already, and with the right pickups this season they could top our stat averages in no time flat. And that’s more than enough to threaten our standings. We are,” she pauses and glances toward the kitchen to make sure her mother is out of earshot, “royally fucked if we don’t pick up a new enforcer.”

“I’m impressed, you got through that whole thing without a single actual statistic,” Robb teases.

Sansa flips him off.

“I’m willing to skip dinner if you’ll just marry me,” a vaguely familiar voice says.

Sansa whips around and sees Tormund leaning in the doorway with Jon hovering behind him.

“I, uh, invited a friend for dinner,” Jon mumbles.

Sansa’s eyes narrow, then she launches herself out of her chair. Jon is already sprinting away before she reaches the doorway.

Tormund effortlessly catches her around the waist, gently but firmly hauling her back into his chest. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I promised if he got me close to you again, I wouldn’t let you claw his eyes out.”

“I can maim him without touching his face,” Sansa mumbles.

She feels Tormund’s thoughtful hum as much as she hears it. “I  _ did _ only promise to protect his face… my sister likes his pretty face, you see. What do I get if I let you go? Jonny-boy has years of friendship banked to protect his investment here.”

Sansa glances up at him over her shoulder. “Were you serious about dinner?”

Tormund grins. “Dead serious.”

Sansa raises a brow, embarrassment forgotten in her need to reach Jon. “Let me go and I’ll say yes.”

Tormund grins. “Tempting, but I don’t know.”

Sansa pouts up at him.

Tormund tightens his hold.

Sansa lets out a sharp whistle. “Lady, go get Jon!”

A blur of white and gray missiles past them and less than a minute later there’s a thud and a shout from Jon. “Cheat!”

Sansa whistles again, then looks up at Tormund again. “Going to let me go yet?”

Tormund shrugs. “I really don’t want to.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Tell you what, let me go to deal with my cousin and I’ll go to dinner  _ and _ dessert with you. My treat.”

Tormund releases her just as Lady drags Jon back into the hall by his pant leg.

* * *

Tormund skates harder than he has in years with Sansa sitting in the stands.

“If you would’ve skated like that at training week last year,” Brienne tells him, “I would’ve browbeat you into more than one season on your contract with the Sapphires.”

Tormund laughs and winks. “You didn’t watch my ass the way Sansa Stark does.”

Brienne frowns. “Tormund. Sansa is… don’t toy with her.”

Tormund sobers. “You know me better than that, Bri.”

Brienne purses her lips, but nods.

“So, give into the Golden Lions flirting yet?”

Brienne flushes hotter than Sansa did the day he met her.


	4. Chapter 4

Brienne takes a deep breath and steps onto the stage - this is her least favorite part of her job as the team manager, the press conferences. But it’s necessary. And this year she gets to very unsubtly tell Tywin Lannister exactly how much he can go fuck himself.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ned Stark calls for the room's attention. “Thank you all for joining us in Wintertown for winter training week. We’ve seen a lot of talent, and I’ve seen more last minute contracts negotiated this week than I’ve ever seen during a training week before. Unlike some owners, I don’t particularly care for the sound of my own voice. So, without further ado, let’s get to it! To start us off, please welcome Brienne Tarth for the Sapphires.”

Brienne finds, for the first time, that her smile is genuine as she steps up to the podium. “Thank you, Ned. The Sapphires’ roster is changing remarkably little this year, but we are very excited to announce one new addition to our team. Joining us as starting center forward this year,” Jaime steps up next to her, “we are thrilled to welcome Jaime Lannister to the Sapphires.”

The room goes deadly silent for all of five seconds before shouting erupts across the room and Tywin Lannister storms right up onto the stage. “What is the meaning of this?”

Jaime, charming as ever in front of the cameras. “My contract was up. I chose not to renew.”

Tywin’s face is steadily turning more and more red. “Jaime, you can’t pos-”

“I can,” Jaime cuts his father off, “and I have.”

“The Lions are our family legacy!”

Jaime shrugs and reaches out to twine his fingers with Brienne’s, easy as breathing. “And the Sapphires are my wife’s family legacy. There are other Lannisters to carry on the Lions legacy, Father.”

* * *

Tormund slings his arm around the back of Sansa’s chair and leans in close to whisper, “Think Lannister might actually have a heart attack?”

“Would I be a terrible person if I said I hope so?” Sansa mutters back.

“Can’t believe she actually married that golden cun- er asshole and didn’t tell me,” Tormund laments.

“You’re close?”

Tormund shrugs. “She’s a damn good manager, and a vastly underappreciated woman. She’s a good friend.”

Sansa smiles. “That’s a good answer.”

Tormund leaves his arm around Sansa’s chair as the announcements continue. There’s another minor ruckus over Sandor Clegane leaving the Lions for the Stags. And Yara Greyjoy surprises everyone by taking a single season contract with the Dragons.

Sansa frowns when Ned takes the stage again, to announce the Direwolves’ trades. She glances over at Tormund. “Wasn’t your contract with the Sapphires only for last season? No one snagged you up?”

Tormund forces himself to keep his gaze on the stage.

“As many of you know,” Ned begins, “the Direwolves’ star enforcer, Torrhen Karstark, chose to take an early retirement at the end of last season, leaving us in a bit of a tight spot. Just ask my daughter,” Ned points to Sansa and a few laughs echo through the crowd. “Lemondrop, would you join me?”

Sansa stands, clearly nervous, and winds her way to the stage.

Ned smiles and tugs her over in front of the podium with him. “Since my daughter has delighted in throwing statistics at me until my head spins through the whole off season, I thought I might let her have the honors of announcing this season’s new Direwolves.”

Sansa immediately makes excited grabby hands toward the folder in Ned’s hands.

Ned hands it over obligingly.

Sansa flips it open, skims the page, and smiles. “Trading from the Stags, oh gods, goalie Gendry Waters on a three season contract!” She shakes Gendry’s hand as he joins them on stage, then flips to the next page and her smile grows. “Coming back to the Direwolves after two seasons with his homeland team, Theon Greyjoy!” She throws her arms around Theon and swats at him good naturedly when he slaps her ass as he steps away. She turns back to the podium and flips to the final page. Her jaw drops and she looks at Ned, then finds Tormund in the crowd.

Tormund smiles at her and nods.

She looks back at her father.

Ned just smirks.

Sansa looks at the paper again, opens her mouth, and _squeals_ , not unlike Tormund’s youngest daughter when she’s presented with a new doll.

Ned laughs and steps up to the podium. “Forgive me for indulging, but my family thought we’d have a bit of fun at my eldest daughter’s expense. You see, we’ve kept it a bit of a secret that we signed her favorite player to a eight season contract. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming Tormund Giantsbane to the Direwolves!”

* * *

As soon as the media circus dies down, Sansa drags Tormund into her office. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

Tormund grins widely and shrugs. “Your family swore me to secrecy.”

“You’re all assholes,” Sansa informs him blithely.

“Forgive me?”

“Eight years, Tormund! You signed the maximum contract!”

“Aye.”

“You haven’t signed more than a season with anyone since you went pro.”

“I missed the North.” Tormund shrugs. “And I can’t very well convince you to marry me if I’m stuck in the South.”

Sansa bursts out in laughter. “We haven’t even had dinner yet!”

“Still willing to have dinner with me, even though I’m an asshole?”

Sansa sobers. “I don’t date players.”

Tormund’s face falls.

Sansa slaps a hand over her mouth to prevent another round of laughter. “Oh gods, you should see your face! I’m sorry, that was mean.”

Tormund scowls playfully and backs her against the wall, bracketing her in with his arms. “Aye, that _was_ mean.”

Sansa bats her eyes up at him. “Sorry.”

Tormund lowers his head until his forehead is almost resting against hers. “Have dinner with me?”

Sansa nods. “Yes.”

“Tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Do I have to wait until then to kiss you?”

Sansa shakes her head.

* * *

Tormund chuckles as Sansa slaps a hand over her mouth to prevent spewing her wine all over the table.

“He didn’t,” she denies, eyes wide.

Tormund nods. “I swear he did. I don’t think there’s anything he wouldn’t do to try and impress my sister.”

Sansa shakes her head. “Gods. I never... Jon’s always been so reserved.”

Tormund grins. “And Ygritte’s always been very not.” His phone jangles with _Walkin’ on Sunshine_. “Oh, shit. Sorry, I thought I turned that off.”

Sansa waves him off. “It’s fine.”

He frowns, torn, as he fishes it out of his pocket.

“You can answer it,” Sansa smiles softly. “I don’t mind.”

Tormund grimaces. “Thanks. Sorry.” He swipes the screen to answer. “What are you little Wildlings doing up so late?”

One of the girls giggles. “Uncle let us stay up to watch the draft,” Milena informs him primly. 

“Oh he did, did he?” Tormund teases.

“Yup!” Olisha nearly shouts.

Tormund rolls his eyes. “Did he give you ice cream?”

“A whole bowl!” Dorwyn giggles.

“Tell him to go let you run in the yard,” Tormund growls playfully. “You’re never gonna sleep with all that in your system.”

“We don’t wanna sleep!” Olisha protests.

Tormund snorts. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“Daddy?” Milena’s voice is suddenly quiet, calm.

“What, Princess?”

His oldest daughter takes a deep breath. “Uncle says that a long contract with the Direwolves means you’re gonna live close all the time again. Is that true?”

Tormund closes his eyes, fighting back tears. “Aye, Princess.”

“Does that mean we get to come live with you?” Olisha asks.

Tormund sighs. “We’ll see, sweet pea.” He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. “Now, go run a few laps around the meadow, then go to sleep. I’ll call you guys tomorrow.”

“Promise?” Dorwyn asks.

“Cross my heart.”

“Love you, Daddy!” All three girls chorus.

“Love you too,” Tormund answers. He carefully silences his phone before slowly looking back up at Sansa. She looks curious, but not judgmental. “My daughters,” he explains.

Sansa’s smile is a bit shakier than he imagines she’d like it to be. “I didn’t know you had children.”

“Three daughters,” Tormund unlocks his phone and pulls up a picture before turning it toward Sansa. “The twins, Milena and Olisha, are six. And my youngest, Dorwyn, is four.”

Sansa’s smile softens to something a bit more genuine. “They’re beautiful.”

Tormund smiles and sets his phone back on the table. “Aye. I should have told you about them, before.”

Sansa shakes her head. “It’s only our first date, Tormund.”

Tormund shrugs. “Aye, but I wasn’t kidding about convincing you to marry me.”

Sansa giggles. “Are you always so forward?”

Tormund shrugs. “Aye.”

Sansa rolls her eyes and lays her hand over his. “I like it.”

Tormund turns his hand over so their palms rest against each other and wraps his fingers over the back of her hand. “Good thing.”

“Where’s their mother?”

Tormund grimaces. “Milena and Olisha’s mother was a very short lived relationship early in my career. Dorwyn’s mother liked the idea of being married to a professional athlete. She very quickly grew disenchanted with the reality of being a stepmother and her husband being gone several months of the year. She dumped the girls with my Uncle Mance and mailed me divorce papers. I didn’t even know she was pregnant with Dorwyn,” he admits the last bit quietly. 

Sansa squeezes his hand in silent comfort.

He clears his throat. “Sorry, that’s a lot to dump on you. ‘M usually good at first dates,” he huffs. “But I’m also not usually quite so invested in them.” He takes a deep breath. “I want you to know what you’re getting into.”

Sansa squeezes his hand more firmly. “I’m glad you told me. I… it helps.”

Tormund frowns. “Helps what?”

Sansa blushes. “I’ve had a rather intense crush on you since the first time I saw you play.” She shrugs. “It humanizes you. Makes you a real person.”

Tormund raises a brow. “Skating into a wall and landing on my ass just ‘cause I saw you didn’t do that?”

Sansa smiles. “It was a start.”


	5. Epilogue - 2 Years Later

“Two years into his eight year contract with the Direwolves, Tormund Giantsbane continues to break League records-”

“Aren’t you a little biased?” Willas Tyrell, Sansa’s co-host for the night’s Direwolves versus Lions game cuts her off good-naturedly.

Sansa rolls her eyes. “It’s just statistics, Tyrell. The numbers don’t lie.”

“You do bring up his records often.”

“And I could just as easily rattle off the records of any other player in the League.”

Willas grins. “But you don’t.”

Sansa scoffs. “Gods, what do you want from me, man?”

Willas quirks an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to admit I’m partial to my husband?”

Willas grins shifts to a smirk. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Sansa laughs brightly. “I’m absolutely crazy about him. He’s a wonderful husband, a devoted father to our four girls, a phenomenal hockey player, and he’s got a great ass. What more could a girl want?”

Willas bursts out laughing. “What more indeed? Even if you did just get us censored.”


End file.
